life

I found some wonderful photos, quiet masterly done, about Lovely Iran. Here is one of them:

Just one year ago at the same time as these days, around the end of April, I caught a relatively long lasting dysfunctional illness of my right shoulder. I’ve already wrote about it here.

Today, after a full year of more or less painful days and nights, I feel relatively ok, but it does not mean that the illness has completely gone. I can say that it has been %90 recovered and I can sleep more comfortably.  

We are experiencing a severely drought spring. No rain falls during last 7 weeks. That means water and electricity shortage during the coming warm summer and consequence rations.  

I remember that in my youth I was passing along a street when I beheld a moon-faced beauty. The season was that of the month of July, when the fierce heat dried up the moisture of the mouth, and the scorching wind consumed the marrow of the bones. Through the weakness of human nature I was unable to support the power of the sun, and involuntarily took shelter under the shade of a wall, waiting to see if any one would relieve me from the pain I suffered, owing to the ardour of the sun’s rays, and cool my flame with water. All of a sudden, from the dark portico of a house, I beheld a bright form appear, of such beauty that the tongue of eloquence would fail in narrating her charms. She came forth as morn succeeding a dark night, or as the waters of life issuing from the gloom. She held in her hand a cup of snow-water, in which she had mixed sugar and the juice of the grape. I know not whether she had perfumed it with her own roses, or distilled into it some drops from the bloom of her countenance. In short, I took the cup from her fair hand, and drained its contents, and received new life.

“The thirst of my heart cannot be slaked with a drop of water, nor if I should drink rivers would it be lessened.”

Most blest that happy one whose gaze intenseRests on such face at each successive morn;The drunk with wine at midnight may his senseRegain; but not till the last day shall dawn

Will Love’s intoxication reach its bourne.

Look, how the morning breeze has helped the rosebud to bloom!

And how at the sight of the rose the nightingale swoons!

Come; sit in the shade of the rosebush, for such a rose

Has often grown put of the soil, to fall down again!

*

It’s a cup so beautiful that the mind cries: perfect!

Kissing it a hundred times with fondness.

The Master Potter goes on turning out such delicate cups

Only to hurl them to the floor: crash!

This is a view from Kelardasht entrance. I took the pic 5 days ago.

Today is Farvardin 13^th. Farvardin, the first month of Persian solar year, starts at March 13^th.

Today the long New Year holidays comes to its end. But the 13 has its story. On the 13th day of the Persian New Year (Norouz), people consider staying at home is unlucky, and go outside for a picnic in order to ward off the bad luck.

Thirteen is regarded as an unlucky number in many cultures. Fear of the number 13 is termed triskaidekaphobia.

Amazingly we prefer to stay at home today.

Some pictures from the nearby forest in spring foliage:

Can you see a spider in this photo?